Scars
by EternallyEC
Summary: For every scar he had a story. Blair’s not the only one with a problem… Chuck-centered but also CB.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing and am making no profit from this story. Everything _Gossip Girl_ belongs to Cecily von Ziegesar, the CW and the god is that Josh Schwartz.

**Author: **Manda (EternallyEC)

**Summary: **_For every scar he had a story._ Blair's not the only one with a problem… Chuck-centered but also CB.

**Timeline: **Partially set during the first season and partially after where the show is right now. (The alternate ending is set just after 2x15.)

**Characters: **Chuck Bass; Blair Waldorf

**Word Count: **The story without the alternate ending is 585. The story with the alternate ending is 987.

**Author's Note: **The first line of this story came into my head while I was walking to work, and I wrote the first couple of paragraphs in my head. When I got to work I grabbed the notebook I keep in my locker for such occasions and began to write.

What follows is actually pretty close to what I wrote in the notebook (a rarity for me), just fleshed out a bit. The alternate ending is actually because I let the muse go and wrote and wrote but reading it over decided I liked my original ending better. But I have a soft spot for the alternate ending as well (because I could see Chuck handling what happened that way) so I decided to include it.

Enjoy!

**Title: **Scars

_I tear my heart open_

_I sew myself shut_

_And my weakness is that I care too much_

_And the scars remind us _

_That the past is real_

_I tear my heart open just to feel_

_~Scars; Papa Roach_

For every scar he had a story.

The stories that spilled from his lips were always larger than life, as they were meant to be. He constructed them that way because he knew the women he bedded expected it, but mostly because he knew they didn't really care.

With her, it was different. He knew that she would never buy his bullshit stories, and he would never insult her by trying to sell them to her. And so the worry was constantly at the edge of his mind, wondering what he would say to her when she asked. It wasn't as if he could tell her the truth, after all.

But as it turned out, he needn't have worried (and really, he should have known better). The first time that they actually took their time having sex (_making love_, his mind whispered but he ignored it) and explored each others' bodies, she asked for no explanation. She just smiled sadly (almost like she knew… but how could she?) and she traced each scar first with her fingers and perfectly manicured fingernails, then with her tongue and finally her lips, gently kissing each one.

This process was repeated each time they had each other after that, her loving his scars as though she was trying to love them (and what they represented) away.

And then he had made a terrible mistake and she had taken her love away. It was no less than he deserved, and when he finally rectified it he swore never to do anything to hurt her again… but no more than a week later he'd broken his promise and spent the following two months wallowing in regret and returning to old habits.

All that he wanted when she finally came back into his life was to make things up to her, to have her by his side and loving his scars the way she had always done, but he really should have known better.

She wounded him deeply that night and in the following days. The wound festered constantly, and he knew that the pain would leave a scar on his heart that would last forever, a scar that would always bear her name.

That was when he decided that he should give her a matching scar, one with his name on it, and so he set out to deliberately hurt her time and time again. Each time he saw the pain in her eyes he felt his old wound flare up again, but he would seek solace in the knowledge that he was leaving a permanent mark on her soul, one that she would never be able to escape.

The next time that they made love he knew that she noticed the new scars but still said nothing. She began her ritual of healing, and she her mouth covered his scars he felt the sense of peace that only she could give him slowly settle into his soul and without even realizing that he was going to speak the words slipped out of his mouth in a whisper. "I cut myself."

Her eyes were full of compassion as she lifted her head to look into his eyes and replied softly, "And I make myself throw up."

The words exposing their weaknesses hung in the air for a moment, allowing the full weight of their admissions to settle on them both. Then she smiled at him and lowered her head as she began to kiss his scars with a new tenderness.

~~FIN

Alternate Ending:

That was when he decided that he should give her a matching scar, one with his name on it, and so he set out to deliberately hurt her time and time again. Each time he saw the pain in her eyes he felt his old wound flare up again, but he would seek solace in the knowledge that he was leaving a permanent mark on her soul, one that she would never be able to escape.

And then everything changed… She stopped trying to hurt him and began to try to help him, to save him, and in turn he continued to cut her with his words, to etch his claim of her deeper and deeper into her heart. He hated himself for doing it but he'd been doing it for so long that he didn't know how to stop.

The following weeks he behaved true to form, doing everything he could to hurt her and still she didn't give up… until the night he lied to her and ruined it all.

When she told him that she was done, he knew that he had finally done it; finally wounded her to the point of no return. And in so doing, he found that he had done the same to himself.

Unsure of what to do, he wandered aimlessly on the streets of New York City for hours until suddenly he found himself back on the roof of Victorla, not quite sure how he got there but knowing what he was there to do all the same.

Thoughts of her were playing in his mind as he felt the familiar feelings stir in the very pit of his soul where he had buried them so long ago, far from the harsh light of day. He'd known then, as he knew now, that to admit what she really meant to him was to embark on a journey far different than any he'd ever known before, and he couldn't risk the damage that such a journey might inflict on him.

But standing on the edge of the roof and staring at the ground below he could think of no reason that he couldn't think the words now. As he finally allowed himself to realize what he felt for Blair Waldorf was pure, unadulterated _love_, he closed his eyes and did the only thing that he could to make the pain stop.

~~FIN


End file.
